


Da Capo

by splash_the_cat



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen, Music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-02
Updated: 2007-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/splash_the_cat/pseuds/splash_the_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's just changed key.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Da Capo

**Author's Note:**

> S10. Spoilers: Unending.

One month to the day after their return from receiving the Asgard database (and she only knows this because the Joint Chiefs have been reminding her at every opportunity just how much time has passed and how little she's progressed on replicating the Asgard weapons technology), Sam returns to her lab and a precariously tall stack of reports after a lunch she'd barely had time to taste. The amount of paper generated from the science division's ongoing study of the database is a little terrifying,  
especially when she, the resident (and now maybe only) authority on Asgard technology, is the one who has to verify and sign off on all of it.

She doesn't notice the CD in a paper sleeve sitting on top of the stack until she pulls a report free, almost tumbling it to the floor. The CD itself is unlabeled, but tiny print on a corner of the sleeve says, "These will wait. I believe you will enjoy this. Teal'c."

Sam bounces the gift on her palm, eyeing the stack of paper. She should wait; maybe listen to it in the car on the way home. If she even goes home. There's been talk of sending her back to Area 51 to take charge of the database project, and as much as she enjoyed her time there, immersed in research, she's loath to even think about it now that she's back here. If she can at least replicate the weapons, soon, she hopes that will quiet the rumbling about transfers.

"Oh, this is ridiculous," she chides herself. "Ten minutes isn't going to make a difference." So she shoves the stack of papers to the side before pulling the CD free of its sleeve, and pops it into her computer. Dvorak's "Cello Concerto in B minor" whines out of the laptop a moment later, the sound thin and reedy. Hurriedly, she plugs in the high-end speakers she uses for sonics projects and, oh … Sam sinks into her chair as the rich sound washes over her, filling the space of her lab and forcing everything else from her thoughts.

An hour later, she finds Teal'c in the gym. He lies on a weight bench, pressing an ungodly amount with ease. He tilts his head back, catching sight of her when he hears her footsteps, but does not pause, even when she settles into the spotter position and lets her hands hover above the rise and fall of the bar. "Thank you," she says.

He smiles - not the quiet, subtle quirk of his mouth she's learned to recognize over the years, but a wide, bright flash of teeth. Wrapped up as she's been in her work, she's not seen much of him since the briefing where he told them the incredible story of what happened aboard the Odyssey, and the changes in him, fifty years of a life only he can now speak witness to, still startle her.

"You are most welcome, Samantha Carter." He's called her that the few times it's been just the two of them, and that's the change that unsettles her most, the one that drives home that this is Teal'c, but yet not the same man she's known all these years.

The clack of the barbell settling into the rests draws her attention to his steady gaze, and Sam glances away from the inquiry there, hoping her unease is not apparent in the flush she feels rise in her cheeks. "How did you... never mind," Sam says when he raises a brow, an expression so familiar amid the now uncertain landscape his features that she breaks into a genuine grin, and she sits down when he pushes himself upright and pats the bench next to him.

"Can I at least ask about that last song on the disc? I didn't recognize the composition. It was lovely."

He favors her with another smile, and this one she recognizes. It's much more before-Teal'c: a small enigmatic curve of lip filled with pleased satisfaction. The "shit-eating, up-to-something" smile, as the General always called it. "It was composed and performed by a woman of great talents, who did not get the credit she deserved for her perseverance or her strength in so many things."

Sam knows she's missing something important, because she swears that there is pride in his voice, amid the open affection that she is only starting to get used to. But before she can press the subject, Teal'c cups the back of her head in his hand and pulls her to him to press a kiss to her forehead. "You are very dear to me, Samantha Carter. And as long as I live, you will never carry the weight that is placed on your shoulders alone."

And then he is gone, and Sam stares, bewildered, at his retreating back, until he disappears into the corridor. Eventually she pushes up off the bench, steadying herself on the racked barbell. Her fingers land where he had gripped it and it is still warm. And he is still Teal'c, she realizes, not altered so much as modulated; he's simply changed key.

Content with the analogy, Sam returns to her work, humming the refrain of Teal'c's song.

 

 


End file.
